


creature comfort

by shineonloki



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Jotun!Loki, Loki is kinda a brat, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Size Kink, but what's new?, jotun!thor, king!Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 10:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15928217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineonloki/pseuds/shineonloki
Summary: Loki-King must marry-- it is Jotunheim's custom. Unfortunately, Loki isn't one for customs.Or;AU where Thor is Jotunheim's local cryptid and Loki proposes to him on accident. A classic love story.





	creature comfort

“But, Loki-King— you, you have to marry.”

Loki sat on his giant throne of ice— a throne entirely too big for a Jotun of his size and stature. Helblindi tried to remain calm under his King’s frosty glare, but Loki knew his little brother too well. He was nervous, agitated, and extremely tired.

When Laufey-King died, Loki had inherited the crown while poor Helblindi was destined to be his advisor. It was a position of high honor—but unfortunately for him, Loki wasn’t one to be advised on anything. He had spent most of his life literally looking up to his fellow giants, but now they finally had to look up to him, even if it were just figuratively.

It wasn’t that Loki was a bad king, per say. It was just that he was a spoiled one; years of being pampered, centuries of batting his large crimson eyes and getting away unscathed after the awfullest of pranks, eons of passing moons being treated like Jotunheim’s most delicate treasure…

And, he was. He was the first born of Laufey-King and special in a way his future siblings weren’t. He was small, tiny— not a _runt_. In fact, that word had been banned from the palace the moment Laufey held the absurdly small infant in his arms.

So, as the years past and his brothers grew taller— Loki stayed very much the same, including his stubborn defiance of Jotunheim’s structured norms.

“I do not have to do anything, I am King,” Loki called down to Helblindi, his chin propped in the palm of his hand. The true image of boredom.

“Yes, but—”

Loki cut him off with a loud, drawn-out sigh. He tapped his fingers against the hard ice of the throne. It echoed through the hall and for every tap, he saw Helblindi’s eye twitch. He tapped harder.

——

The thing about Jotnar marriages was, well, they weren’t really marriages. Not for royalty, anyway, and especially not for the King. Helblindi had told him to think of it more as a partnership— Loki had made a face of disgust. Helblindi then told him to think of it more as a bed-warmer— Loki fake retched.

He needed a loophole, and luckily, he could always find one.

The idea came to him during a stroll through the gardens— a generous term for mostly ice— with Helblindi at his side, patient as ever as his enormous legs moved slowly to keep with Loki’s pace.

There had been two children playing out in the snowbanks, jabbing each other with icicles dramatically.

“Take that, you monster!”

One of the children played at being wounded, a comical charade. Then, with a theatrical flair, yelled: “You cannot kill the Mighty Thor!”

Helblindi had watched with amusement. Loki had watched with a plan.

——

“You will be pleased to know I have chosen a suitable mate!”

Helblindi stared up at the throne, with thinly-veiled suspicion. “That is excellent news, Loki-King,” he said cautiously. “I will contact the suitor at once. I only need a name.”

Loki smiled, devilish and sly.

“I have chosen the one they call Thor.”

If it were possible for his brother’s blue skin to burn red— Loki was sure it would have done so. Instead, he only smiled, which turned out to be a horrible sneer of sharp teeth.

“There is a wonderful princess on—”

“Thor,” Loki cut him off.

“Or, the prince in—”

“Thor.”

“Perhaps, the witch—”

“Thor.”

“I heard there is—”

“I heard there is a Jotun that stalks the outskirts of the wastelands. Maybe you have heard of him? What was his name again?”

Helblindi closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, let it out through his huge, flared nostrils. “Thor?” – It was asked through gritted teeth.

“Yes,” Loki replied with enthusiasm. “That’s it!”

His brother—and most unfortunate advisor—nodded his head, turned on his heel and left the throne room. He hadn’t been dismissed, but Loki let it slide. Sometimes it was best not to push _all_ the buttons.

——

The plan was perfect, flawless, immaculate.

Thor was just the boogey-man of Jotunheim—a story to tell naughty little Jotun’s who were up to no good. Loki had heard his fair share of them. He was smaller than most giants, like the King— but they said his blood was mixed with Aesir. It made him bloodthirsty and cruel, a big brute stalking the mountains. Wild and feral, with hair yellow like the dawning sun.

Or at least, that’s what was said. There was no actual proof—the only sightings had been from a few Jotun civilians who skirted too close to the wastelands on a hunt.

_“He was foaming at the mouth!”_

_“He looked like a Jotun but was covered in hair! He even had it on his cheeks!”_

_“I saw him drinking out of a hollow skull! Honest!”_

The perfection of the plan lay in the fact that Thor wasn’t real, Helblindi would never find him, and he would never have to marry.

Loki sat propped on his oversized throne, lounging with his legs gracefully slung over one of the arms while his back pressed against the other. He brought his jewel-encrusted goblet to his lips, smiling around the rim, before taking a savoring sip.

Nothing would go wrong.

——

Loki stood in front of his full-length mirror, tugging at the hair that fell over his shoulder in soft waves. Most Jotnar cut their hair when they came of age, but he had found the practice silly. So, like most customs, he elected to ignore it. Though, he couldn’t deny the doubt being King brought— perhaps cutting his hair would make him more fearsome.

He tried to image himself bald, with only the golden cuffs around his horns—no hair to hold his circlet of emeralds into place.

Loki scoffed— what was he thinking? Beauty was the most fearsome feature of all.

From behind him came a knock at the door and he called for whoever it was to let themselves in. Unsurprisingly, it was Helblindi— because when did he ever get a break from his brother’s insufferable doting? Loki watched him in the reflection of the mirror; he looked smug, which was unusual. Helblindi was a lot of things, but arrogant usually wasn’t one of them.

“Loki-King,” he greeted, that stupid smile still on his face. “I come bearing good news.”

Loki turned, finally, clutching his hand to his chest with a fake gasp. “You’re stepping down from your position of royal advisor?”

The pleased expression on his brother’s face faltered, and it was Loki’s turn to look smug.

“No,” Helblindi pressed, with a great deal of feigned politeness. “We have retrieved what you asked for.”

Loki cocked his head to the side—he hadn’t asked for anything. The last request he had made was for a fur cloak made from Jotunheim’s white wolf. He looked to the rack beside his bed where said cloak hung and frowned.

Helblindi smiled again, and this time there was no denying the immense satisfaction radiating from it. There was also no denying the pinpricks on the back of Loki’s neck. He knew that whatever _good news_ his brother was about to present wasn’t going to be good at all.

“We have found the one called Thor.”

——

Unbelievable. Implausible. Ludicrous.

Loki sat petulantly on the throne in his best silk loincloth, his most expensive jewels dripping from his armlets, anklets, waist, and circlet.

 _“You must look nice for your future husband!”_ Helblindi had chided, pushing sheer swaths of fabric and emerald silks at him. He’d only narrowly missed shoving the conjured ice blade into his advisor’s eye.

He was so wrapped up in blind fury, that he almost missed the ceremonial blowing of the biglesnipe horn. Still, at the sound, he straightened, squared his shoulder’s and tried to look regal and kingly—despite the churning of his stomach.

Three guards marched in, behind them, a chained Jotun much smaller— but much larger than Loki. His hair was fair, a pale yellow like he’d never seen. It looked strange against his blue skin, marked with heritage lines less noble than his own. Strange, yet endearing.

Only— the Jotun didn’t look murderous like the legends suggested. He looked amused and curious, despite his cuffed hands. He came to a halt at the bottom of the throne’s steps, forced to look up at his King.

There was a challenge in his eyes— and Loki was always up for a challenge.

“Where is your hammer?”

“Straight to the point, Loki-King.” Thor grinned, a flirtatious thing. “I like it.”

Loki felt his cheeks go purple, and from somewhere beside him, he heard Helblindi groan. That hadn’t been what he meant—the Thor in the legends had a hammer made of the heaviest ice. He used it to smash the toes of misbehaving Jotnar children. Everyone knew that!

But, now that he mentioned it—Loki let his eyes wander from Thor’s face to his muscled chest, to his— well, the skin-tight breeches left little to the imagination. He snapped his eyes back up to find Thor had a knowing smirk, visible even beneath the rugged beard.

“In the legends, Thor has a hammer. Where is it? If you are truly him.”

Loki hoped he sounded composed. He probably didn’t.

“We have it, your Majesty.”

The guard hesitated when Loki cut him a sharp glare. Good, he thought, show some fear.

“Why is he chained? He is not a prisoner.”

The guards then shared a look between them. Helblindi put a hand on his shoulder—well, as much as he could— the giant idiot. His brother leaned down, whispering too loudly in his ear, the words bringing breaths that acted as wind to blow his perfectly poised hair out of place: “He could be dangerous.”

Loki wasn’t fazed.

“Unchain him,” he commanded.

The guards looked worried, Helblindi looked defeated, Thor looked manic, and Loki looked bored.

Thor held up his hands, bound together with strong, Jotun steel. He smiled, dangerous and almost threatening. That was fine, Loki liked dangerous— he felt his heart quicken with a shot of adrenaline, leaning forward to the edge of his seat.

The chains came off and— _nothing_. Nothing happened. Loki leaned back in his seat, pouting.

Thor bowed like he was a respectful Jotun and not a monster of legend. There was no berserker rage, no foaming of the mouth, no bloodstained hands; just Thor, a powerful frost giant who managed to be small and larger than life at the same time.

“I believe you drug me out here for a reason?” Thor said, irritatingly charming, from a curtain of blonde hair.

“Yes,” Loki replied stiffly, jutting his chin up. Trying and failing to maintain some of his dignity. “How would you like to marry a king?”

The grin already plastered on Thor’s face stretched impossibly wider— full of teeth that promised to bite. Loki was much too entranced by it to notice the way Helblindi dropped his head into the palm of his hand and groaned.

——

The ceremony was a tedious affair. It was all politics, no pizazz— not Loki-King’s typical speed or preference. Though, this time, he let it slide because he was eager and hungry, and not for the banquet spread of food at the reception.

Thor had been eyeing him the entire night, red eyes dark with something that hadn’t been directed towards him before. It made Loki’s skin itch, his cold heart beat faster, and his cheeks to remain permanent purple. He’d never been particularly interested in taking anyone to his bed— it was large, luxurious and piled with pillows and the perfect nest for _just_ him. He’d never been fond of sharing, but now, as he sipped his wine—making sure Thor watched as he licked stray drops from his lips— he wanted very much to _share_.

Head buzzing with enough wine to make him bold, but not belligerent, he sauntered over to his new husband. Loki laughed through a hiccup, reaching out to stroke a delicate hand down Thor’s arm. His muscles were as strong as the ice that fortified the palace, smooth and cold. The only difference: Loki didn’t have the urge to lick the wall.

Thor watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, looking down with a lazy, but happy, expression. He was still so big compared to the King, towering over him by almost two feet. Loki smiled, dropping his hand down to Thor’s wrist, where he tried— and failed— to wrap his hand around it.

Thor shook free from the grasp, and Loki almost protested, until that arm was being wrapped around his waist, pulling him close. Loki hummed contently, rubbing his face along the bare, blue, chest. He pressed his nose against him, causing it to flatten, and snorted a laugh.

“Husband,” he said out loud— which made it even more hysterical. So, he laughed, his entire body shaking with each heaving giggle.

“Something funny?” Thor asked him, and Loki looked up, wiping a tear from his eye with the back of his hand.

“It’s just,” Loki stifled back another laugh. “I didn’t think you were real.”

Thor didn’t look offended, he just smiled warmly and gave Loki a tight squeeze around his waist— bringing them even closer. There was something firm and bulging pressing into his stomach, and when Loki looked up—laughter dying on his lips—to see Thor gazing down at him with unbridled lust, he blushed in realization.

Loki desperately wished he stood at Thor’s height so that he might press his own growing erection against Thor’s. Perhaps, if Thor would only pick him up—

“I’m very real, little King,” Thor whispered.

They weren’t alone— Helblindi was around. Still, even that thought couldn’t stop him from rubbing up against Thor, savoring the groan that earned him. Like everything on his new husband, his cock was huge. Loki could tell by the way it stiffened further against his soft stomach with each roll of his body.

Thor gripped him tight along the shoulders, pushing to create a space between them. Loki whined, and his hips pressed forward, seeking friction in the empty air. His loincloth was already tented, a faint damp spot on the silk where his cock sat beneath it at full attention. Typically, the thought of being hard in public would mortify him—but his mind was too clouded with lust and an uncontrollable want.

“We can’t do this here,” Thor told him. Who would have thought the Wasteland Monster would be the rational one— and the King would be the one acting like an animal in heat? Loki would have laughed if he wasn’t so ridiculously turned on.

“So,” Loki pressed forward and the slight give in Thor’s grip allowed him to press his face back into the hard expanse of muscle. He licked a long, hot stripe up the center of Thor’s chest. “Take me somewhere where we can.”

——

Thor had to carry him to the King’s chambers to hide the indecency between his legs. Loki didn’t complain, being hoisted up into Thor’s arms offered him the chance to bite and suck at his neck while giving him lazy, pointed directions.

The second the door was shut behind them, Loki was thrown to the bed. He bounced against the mattress, a little caught off guard. He didn’t have time to be annoyed—not with Thor stripping himself of his furs, exposing his broad shoulders and offering Loki a clear view of what was now his.

Thor reached for him, snatching up an ankle and dragging Loki to the edge of the bed. The rough touch turned tender, and he ran his large hand up the King’s leg, a smooth and gentle caress that had Loki’s knees trembling. He spread his legs, canting his hips upward, silently begging Thor’s hand to touch just a little higher.

To Loki’s frustration, Thor pulled away, taking a step back from the bed.

“I bet you are used to getting what you want,” Thor said lowly, his voice a rumble that Loki felt through his entire body. “I’m afraid you’ll have to work for this though, little King.”

Loki’s face pulled into a frown; he could still be insulted, even through a haze of desire. He scrambled up, propping himself on his elbows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Thor smiled, not at all disturbed by the King’s irritation. With one hand he skillfully unlaced his breeches, and Loki’s throat went dry as he pulled out his still-hard cock, purple and weeping at the tip. It was even bigger than he’d imagined during his insistent rutting— and for a moment, Loki wondered if the entire arrangement was going to work at all.

Thor stroked himself once, twice, and then his hands were at his sides—eyes searing into the flesh of Loki’s thighs, at the tent of the fabric draped at his hips.

“Work yourself open for me,” he demanded.

Loki felt a shudder throughout his body, and there wasn’t a bone in him that thought to disobey. Lust was a strange sensation—he wasn’t one to be told what to do in any aspect of his life, but now he only wanted to be _good_. Good for Thor. Good for his husband.

He hiked his loincloth up to his stomach, another bead welling at the tip of his cock as the cool silk rubbed against it. His body begged him to repeat the motion, but he refrained— because he knew any attention shown would have him spending before he got what he really wanted.

Loki made sure Thor’s eyes were on him while he sucked his index finger into his mouth—making a show of getting it nice and wet, spit obscenely dribbling from his bottom lip. There was a hunger flaring within Thor, a lust so palatable, Loki could taste it. Almost smugly, he trailed his spit-slick finger down his chest, gasping as it grazed a hardened nipple, and then down between his legs— careful not to brush against his neglected cock.

The first push against the tight ring of muscle burned, but in a way that had him keening. He knew he couldn’t properly prepare himself with spit alone, it was just for show. It was just to get Thor’s blood boiling so that he’d fuck him nice and hard— to split Loki apart and make him feel him for days.

“Oil,” Loki gasped out, the finger pumping in and out of himself going dry and bordered painful. “On the nightstand.”

When the servant had placed it there after the announcement of Thor’s arrival, Loki had scoffed. He hadn’t entertained the idea of actually needing any. Now, he wanted to bathe in it.

Thor obliged, gathering the little basin and placing it beside Loki on the bed. There wasn’t any concern about it spilling over, it didn’t matter—the sheets would be covered in it before it was over with anyway.

Loki was pleased to see that up close, Thor was just as wrecked as he was. He was just a smidge better at controlling it.

He lathered three of his fingers in the oil as Thor made his way to his place at the foot of the bed— arms now crossed and fingers twitching. His cock was still at full attention, curved upwards, purple and angry. Loki pumped his finger faster, impatient, desperate to feel it inside him.

“Look at you,” Thor growled as Loki worked a second finger in alongside the first. The stretch was nothing compared to the pleasure of having such eager and heated eyes on him. “You’d have to prepare yourself to even be able to take my fingers, wouldn’t you?”

Loki choked back a moan, furious pace stuttering.

“How many do you think it will take? Four?” He reached down to stroke at his cock for the first time after taking it out. He rubbed at the head, spreading the wetness at the tip down over the shaft until it glistened— Loki let out a moan that sounded more like a whine.

He worked with greater haste after that, the anticipation of having Thor finally fuck him outweighing any lingering burn against his fingers. By the time he was four deep, his mind was gone.

“Do you think,” he panted out and Thor turned his head up, despite being obviously distracted. “Do you think you’ll be able to see it? Moving against my stomach when you fuck me?”

Thor’s little comments, his soothing encouragements, had been driving Loki insane—he was only trying to even the playing field. Plus, he was a little curious; Thor was so big in comparison, but he was determined to make them fit together. It would be an interesting experiment.

Loki’s teasing seemed to do more than simply _tease_ — it lit a fire in Thor. He crowded between Loki’s spread legs, standing between them as they dangled off the side of the large bed. They aligned perfectly, Thor’s hips lining up with the swollen, stretched hole— aching to be filled.

He draped himself over Loki’s body, kissing at his chest, tonguing playfully at his nipple. Loki bit back a moan—it felt good, too good, but he was way past foreplay.

“Come on, aren’t you going to service your King?”

Thor looked up, red eyes almost black. Without breaking contact, he reached over and blindly felt for the basin of oil— slicking up his cock in quick strokes. Loki’s body trembled in waiting.

Two large hands seized him at the waist, pulling his body down closer to the edge of the bed. Thor’s cock prodded at his hole, slick and warm. Panic reared its ugly head— it was too much. Loki scrambled for purchase on thick arms as Thor pushed forward, the muscle giving reluctantly.

He already felt so full, impossibly so—and the head hadn’t even breached. Loki threw his head back at another shove, careful but driving deeper. He breathed heavily, panting through his teeth in a hiss.

Thor was silent, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the dips of Loki’s hips.

“Alright?”

Loki answered by pushing his body down, spearing himself further. It hurt, but the noise that was punched out of Thor was delicious and addicting—so he did it again until he was half-sheathed inside. Then, nothing else mattered. His only goal was to have Thor flush against him, buried deep and filling him completely.

“Come on—”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Thor hissed, but the gentle touch on his hips left— the pads now digging hard into the soft flesh.

“If you’d let me, I’d climb on top of you,” Loki said, smirking when the grip tightened, bordering painful. “I’d sink down on that cock of yours until the only thing I could feel—”

His words were punched out of him as Thor drove home. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, overwhelmed with an immeasurable amount of pleasure. The King was rendered speechless.

Thor reached up and thumbed a stray tear away. “Be careful what you wish for, little King.”

Loki gathered his bearings, squirming so that he could feel the massive weight inside him—relishing the breathy moans that earned him.

“I wish for you to fuck me,” Loki told him, matter-of-factly. Amazed at how steady his voice was.

A low rumble came from the back of Thor’s throat—it was animalistic, much closer to the stories he had heard of the feral Jotun. All of his snark vanished the moment his wish was granted. With ease, Thor lifted Loki’s legs, propping them on his shoulders, holding his ankles firm—fucking into him with quick, brutal strokes.

Every thought in Loki’s mind disappeared, overwhelmed at the feeling of Thor’s cock sliding in and out—slamming against that place inside of him he had trouble finding on his own. It was almost punishing in nature. He pulled at his own hair, desperate for his hands to hold onto something.

“Is this what you want,” Thor grunted between moans.  “To be broke in two?”

If Loki had any mind at all, he would have told him that he is Loki-King and not easily broken. But, as Thor drove into him again, and again, and again— he thought he may need to retract that sentiment.

So, instead—

“Yes!”

Thor’s hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering briefly before picking back up the pace.

“Break me apart, do it,” Loki hissed.

He didn’t break Loki apart, but he did reach down, taking his bobbing cock in his hand. It only took one clumsy stroke and he was shouting, shooting hot stripes of white over Thor’s fingers and across his own chest. Thor leaned over him, licked it clean, and Loki was positive he would have came again if he had it in him.

“Come on, fill me up.”

It seemed Thor wasn’t one to disobey his King. One final thrust, leveraging himself by grabbing ahold of a horn, had him spilling, pulsing an impossible amount into Loki. He could feel it, hot and abundant—already trickling from his hole as Thor grunted out the last of it.

He pressed his sweaty forehead to Loki’s, panting— but also smiling. 

“You are insatiable, little King.”

Loki faux-frowned, the endearment was more insulting post-orgasm. “You’re little too.”

Thor laughed lightly, slipping out of Loki—who winced at the emptiness he now felt, even full of seed. He cocked a brow. “Am I?”

Loki hummed, looping his arms around Thor’s big neck. “Not too little, I suppose.”

——

They lay together in Loki’s fortress of pillows—Thor on his back, and Loki curled into his side. He stroked a lazy hand against the wiry hair of Thor’s beard, smiling to himself.

“Why do you live in the Wastelands. Don’t you know what people say?”

Thor rolled his head over, gazing down at Loki with amusement—not at all insulted by the question.

“I just liked being alone.”

Loki pulled his hand back and blink.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

“Are you disappointed?”

Loki couldn’t be sure, but he was fairly certain he heard the worry in Thor’s voice. He leaned up, straddling him, and took Thor’s cheeks into his hand, angling his face upwards. Hesitantly he lowered his mouth to his, kissing sweetly against the seam of his lips. It was tender and soft, the exact opposite of their earlier bout. To Loki’s surprise, he realized it was their first proper kiss.

It would be the first of many, he decided.

“No, I guess not.”


End file.
